


Goodwill To All Men?

by Llywela



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 06:04:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llywela/pseuds/Llywela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story answers a Christmas Combination Challenge hosted at Prosfanfic, using the combination of: Cowley's Aunt Agatha, Restaurant, and Christmas Carols. It is also a companion piece to my Lyric Wheel story, 'Gone to the Dogs', and immediately follows that story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodwill To All Men?

**Author's Note:**

> CI5 and all associated characters belong to Mark 1 Productions.  
> With huge thanks to Birgit for her input, and also to Arianna.

It was the week before Christmas.  
  
The staff at CI5 were hoping that the week would be a quiet one, allowing them some much needed time off over the festive season. All the signs looked good. The top pairing of Bodie and Doyle had just managed a major breakthrough on the one tricky case they had on their books at present: a rather dramatic showdown late in the day had culminated in the arrests of both the dealer they were tailing and also his unexpected financier. Backup had been summoned to take them all back to HQ, and then it was all over bar the shouting.   
  
There turned out to be rather a lot of shouting.   
  
After a post-scuffle visit to the CI5 medic, Bodie headed back upstairs in search of Doyle and found consternation the order of the day. The financier, Leston-Rama, was extremely well connected and, seeing him arrested and carted off to CI5 headquarters, his secretary had quickly raised the alarm. She had brought his highly positioned friends swiftly to his defence, protesting vociferously that he was merely an innocent victim, forced to cooperate against his will. Alarmingly, CI5's own Minister became involved in the affair, insisting that he be told what was going on and demanding to see Mr Cowley, who he was sure could sort this all out.   
  
However, Mr Cowley was rather unaccountably and very uncharacteristically nowhere to be found. Nobody in the building seemed to have any idea where he might be. At length, Bodie managed to get hold of his secretary, Betty, who was understandably unhappy at being phoned at home and rather tersely informed him that Mr Cowley had taken the evening off and gone for dinner at Henry's restaurant on Park Place. Then, fed up of Bodie parroting everything she said, she hung up on him.   
  
With a stunned expression on his face, Bodie replaced the receiver and then turned to face Doyle, who looked equally flabbergasted.   
  
"Henry's?" Was all Doyle could say, in shocked disbelief.  
  
"Evening off?" Bodie countered, equally amazed.   
  
"I don't believe it." Then Doyle shook his head, and reluctantly said, "We'd better go get him, then."  
  
"He'll eat us alive."  
  
"Yeah, I know," was Doyle's rueful response. "Come on, let's get it over with."  
  
As he headed out of the door, Bodie called him back. "Hang on a minute."  
  
Doyle paused in the doorway and swivelled to face him. "What?"  
  
Bodie looked his partner up and down, critically. Vaguely puzzled at this scrutiny, Doyle glanced down at himself and then shrugged, "What?" he repeated.   
  
"You're seriously going to walk into Henry's dressed like that?"  
  
"Well, I'm not going home to change first, am I?"  
  
Bodie shook his head in mock dismay. "On your head be it, my son."   
  
"On the Minister's head be it," Doyle retorted as they headed down the corridor.

*****

  
There was silence as they got into Doyle's car, both men lost in thought as each of their minds was inexorably drawn to the same question, which was eventually voiced by Doyle. "Who the hell would Cowley be taking out to dinner? To _Henry's_?" He glanced quizzically at Bodie. "Eh?"  
  
"Don't look at me! How the hell should I know?"  
  
"I mean, _Henry's_. You have to book three weeks in advance just to get in!"  
  
"Well, I dunno, do I?"   
  
"You're the one who spoke to Betty. She didn't even hint?"  
  
"No. She was very cagey, actually."  
  
"So who could it be?"  
  
"The Minister's wife," Bodie suggested, deadpan.   
  
Doyle laughed. "Nah. Ruth." He chortled gleefully at the image.   
  
"Ruth?"  
  
"Yeah," Doyle insisted, playfully. "Well, it can't be Betty, can it? You just spoke to her."  
  
"True," Bodie conceded. Then he was struck by a thought. "I know."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Mrs Collier."  
  
Doyle spluttered. "Mrs Collier from the canteen?"  
  
"Yeah, why not?" Bodie chuckled.   
  
Doyle laughed. "Could be, could be. I still reckon it's Ruth."   
  
They kept up the playful guessing game until Doyle pulled up outside the restaurant, and then an ominous silence fell over them as the moment of truth drew near.

*****

  
Henry's was a very exclusive, very expensive restaurant set in the midst of a better class of neighbourhood. The décor was impeccable, with tastefully subdued lighting and the soft sound of orchestral Christmas carols gently playing in the background, while a selection of carefully positioned screens ensured the privacy of each table.   
  
Entering the restaurant, the smartly attired Bodie could just about pass muster, albeit with a few eyebrows raised at the relatively casual nature of his outfit. But as they got further in, Doyle, clad in elderly jeans, a battered leather jacket and with his trainers on the verge of falling apart completely, was increasingly and uncomfortably aware of the severe scrutiny of the waiters who were discreetly stationed around the room, and of the extremely well-bred diners they passed. Moving through the restaurant, they left in their wake a ripple of subdued yet outraged murmurs.  
  
One of the waiters approached the two, clearly intending to show them back to the door, as he looked Doyle up and down with no effort to disguise his contempt. Looking down his nose, he informed them that, "I'm sorry, gentlemen, we have no tables available at present. We also have a dress code, and I'm afraid you cannot stay in the restaurant …"  
  
Before he could continue, Doyle cut him off with an impatient, "It's okay, I'm not some tramp wandered in off the street. We're here with an important message for one of your diners."   
  
He waved his ID briefly at the waiter, as Bodie commented, "He's over there."   
  
Firmly pushing past the staggered waiter, the two men ignored the effect they were having on the diners and headed determinedly to the secluded corner where they had spotted their boss.   
  
As the agents reached Mr Cowley's table, the older man's eyes registered disapproval at their presence as well as the disturbance they had created, but he otherwise gave no sign of having seen them as he placed a forkful of food in his mouth and chewed serenely.   
  
On the other side of the table sat a wizened, white-haired little old lady, 80 years old if she was a day, who placed her cutlery down on her plate with a frown at the interruption, and looked the two agents up and down quizzically.   
  
Cowley finished his mouthful, dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin, and then turned to face his by now rather anxious looking agents. Before anything could be said, the headwaiter approached, clearly unhappy with the presence of these two respectively shabby and under dressed interlopers, who were disturbing his customers so. Cowley dismissed the man with a wave, and then raised an eyebrow at the two. "Well? I assume you have a good reason for being here."  
  
Bodie opened his mouth, closed it again, and then finally came out with, "Um." He glanced helplessly at Doyle and then tried again. "Doyle can explain, sir."  
  
Doyle glared at him before addressing Mr Cowley. "Could we have a word in private, please, sir?"  
  
Cowley nodded, looking annoyed, and then smiled sweetly at the old woman. "Excuse me, please, for just a moment, Aunt Agatha."  
  
 _"Aunt Agatha?"_ Bodie mouthed silently at Doyle, who managed to suppress a smile, behind their superior's back. Then both hurriedly donned suitably grave expressions as they explained the situation to their boss.   
  
Predictably, he was not pleased at all. The partners shared an amused grin as they caught him glancing wistfully back at his half-eaten and no doubt extortionately expensive meal, and then quickly straightened their faces as he looked back at them, sizing them both up thoughtfully.   
  
Without wasting a word on his agents, Mr Cowley returned to his table, Bodie and Doyle trailing in his wake. There, he addressed Aunt Agatha in honeyed tones. "I'm most dreadfully sorry, Aunt Agatha. It appears an emergency has cropped up and my presence is required to straighten it out."  
  
"But you've not finished the main course, yet," Aunt Agatha protested shrilly in a broad Glaswegian accent.   
  
"Unavoidable, I'm afraid," Cowley insisted, voice smooth as silk. "I'll be back as soon as I can, don't you worry. In the meantime, these two young men will stay here and look after you; and if for some reason I don't make it back before you've finished your meal, they will make sure you get back to your hotel safely, in which case I will ring in the morning to make sure everything is all right and arrange to see you again before you leave."  
  
Aunt Agatha huffed slightly in obvious disapproval, as Mr Cowley turned back to his agents. " I trust you two lads will take good care of my aunt until I get back. Enjoy your evening." With that, he made his exit, pausing on the way out to have a word with the headwater with a few gestures back in their direction, leaving the dismayed agents alone with his elderly aunt.

*****

  
Sliding into the seat vacated by Mr Cowley, Bodie summoned his most charming smile as he assured Aunt Agatha that, "I'm sure he won't be long, Mrs … I mean, Miss," he hurriedly corrected himself after a glance at her left hand, "Er …"  
  
"Grey," she told him, still looking severe. "Miss Agatha Grey."  
  
"Miss Grey, delighted to make your acquaintance," Bodie turned the charm offensive up a notch before shooting a quick glare at his partner to back him up. Rather reluctantly and still uncomfortably aware of too many pairs of eyes on his back, Doyle found himself a chair to pull up, which earned him a few appalled glares from the waiters, and slumped down into it. Aunt Agatha frowned at him slightly, prompting him to pull himself upright, before having her attention drawn once more by Bodie. "My name is Bodie, Miss Grey, and this is Ray Doyle," he explained.   
  
With her attention thus directed back at him, Doyle tried a smile, which froze in place under the frosty gaze she was turning on him.   
  
"Young man," Aunt Agatha remarked, severely. "Are you aware that this restaurant has a dress code?"  
  
"Um," Doyle hesitated for a moment, before deciding to run with the truth as an excuse. "Yes, I am aware. But we needed to contact Mr Cowley urgently; there wasn't time to change. Um. I hadn't intended staying …" He trailed off, seeing that the old lady's attention was wandering back towards Bodie.   
  
"Have you hurt your leg, young man?"  
  
Caught in the act of picking with his fingers at the almost intact remains of Cowley's meal while no one was looking, it was Bodie's turn to freeze, guiltily. "I'm sorry?"   
  
"Your leg," Aunt Agatha explained, patiently. "You were limping as you came in."  
  
"Oh, yeah. I mean, yes. I twisted my knee slightly."  
  
"Oh, dear," Aunt Agatha was all sympathy and concern. "Have you seen a doctor? You should keep it elevated, you know, let me get you a chair to rest it on. Waiter!"  
  
His mouth open to protest that that wasn't necessary, that the injury really wasn't that bad, Bodie wasn't quick enough to prevent her calling loudly across the room to summon a waiter. As she explained, still in a very loud voice, that another chair was required for her young companion's injured leg, both agents felt like melting into the ground as yet more attention was drawn to their already undesirable presence in the restaurant.   
  
"No, no, it's quite all right, honestly … yes, all right, thank you." Bodie gave in as the chair arrived, and with Aunt Agatha still fussing loudly he had no choice but to prop his leg up on it, although he had by now collected enough of his wits to firmly refuse her suggestion of a cold compress or cushion.   
  
"There, now, that's better." Aunt Agatha smiled broadly at him. "Now, you help yourself to George's meal, dear. There's no sense in letting it go to waste, now, is there, and you need to build your strength up."   
  
Very pleased at being given permission to scavenge, Bodie glanced around to check if anyone was looking, and then surreptitiously leaned across to the unoccupied table from which Doyle had already stolen a chair to lift a clean knife and fork. He then gave Doyle a satisfied smile as he helped himself with great relish to the meal, and was highly delighted at the dark glare he received in reply. There was a very brief moment of silence as both Bodie and Aunt Agatha ate. But after just a mouthful or two Aunt Agatha was unable to stay quiet any longer. "So, you boys work for George, then, do you?" she enquired, through a mouthful of roast potato.   
  
Although the question was ostensibly aimed at both agents, it was Bodie she addressed, and on Bodie that her attention was fixed, so Doyle was able to lean back comfortably in his chair and let his partner carry the conversation. "Um, yes, that's right, Miss Grey."   
  
"Aunt Agatha, please," she smiled at him. "Excuse me, please, young man," she was speaking now to Doyle once more, looking stern. "I'm sure the management wouldn't like to see you tipping your chair back like that. Do sit up straight."   
  
Feeling like a naughty schoolboy who had been caught out, Doyle guiltily returned all four chair legs to the floor and levered himself upright once more, aware of not only Bodie's amused smirk but of the renewed attention of nearby diners and waiters.   
  
Aunt Agatha smiled beatifically at his obedience. "There, now, that's better. Now, where was I? Ah yes." She returned her attention to Bodie. "So, you work for George. That's very interesting. And what exactly is it that you do?"  
  
Unsure of how to respond, not knowing just how much the old lady knew about her nephew's line of work, Bodie opened and closed his mouth a few times, while Doyle contentedly left him to struggle. Finally finding his tongue, he explained, "We, um, well, we're just underlings, really. It's Mr Cowley who does all the important work, like speaking to the Minister tonight."  
  
This seemed to be the right line to take, as Aunt Agatha smiled in pleasure. "Yes, indeed, it is important work, meeting such important people. I'm sure my dear sister Mary would be so proud, if she could see her wee lad today."  
  
"Yes, I'm sure she would," Bodie beamed at her, delighted by this description of his superior. _  
_  
Aunt Agatha continued her meal, very slowly, all the while talking and along the way letting slip tantalisingly delightful crumbs of gossip about the young George Cowley, while her two companions struggled manfully to keep straight faces. It was mainly Bodie that she spoke to, as she clearly regarded Doyle as more of a disruptive influence, and her shrill voice was always just that bit too loud, so that her companions were never quite able to relax or feel comfortable in their surroundings.  
  
"Well, now." Finishing her final mouthful at last, Aunt Agatha placed her knife and fork down beside the plate. "If you boys will excuse me for just a moment, I think I'll visit the ladies room."   
  
As she stood up, the two agents hurriedly and politely rose also. Or, at least, Doyle did. Bodie attempted to stand, but with his leg still propped up under the table on another chair, he found himself too entangled to rise and ended up tripping himself full length on the floor. To his immense relief, Aunt Agatha was already making her way very slowly towards the bathroom and missed the performance – but the neighbouring diners didn't. Biting his lip, shoulders shaking with silent mirth, Doyle hauled his partner back up onto his seat before dropping back into his own. Once Aunt Agatha was safely out of earshot, they could no longer contain themselves, and collapsed across the table, helpless with laughter and heedless now of the disapproving stares coming from all sides.   
  
"My god, she'd give my Nan a run for her money," gasped Doyle, eyes streaming.  
  
"Cracking old bird," was Bodie's verdict as he endeavoured to regain control. "She's got you pegged as trouble, hasn't she? Very wise, I can see where 'wee George' gets it from! No wonder he was so quick to get out of here and leave us to it."   
  
"Wee George." Doyle was off again, hiccoughing with laughter until Bodie thumped him hard on the back, which turned the hiccoughs into real coughs. Aware of yet more outraged glares from the neighbouring tables, Bodie hissed at his partner to shut up before they got thrown out, and summoned a nearby waiter to request a glass of water for his friend. It was the same waiter who had accosted them on the way in, and he clearly would have preferred to simply remove this disreputable person from the premises and thus avoid further disrupting his customers, however he agreed with very bad grace and minced away to fetch the water.   
  
By the time Aunt Agatha returned from the bathroom, Doyle had managed to recover from his fit of coughing, and the main course had been cleared away. Shortly after, two apparently pre-ordered desserts arrived. Aunt Agatha daintily made headway in one and Bodie cheerfully demolished the other, while Doyle shook his head disapprovingly at him, now looking as solemn as an owl.   
  
While enjoying her dessert, Aunt Agatha continued to chatter away to Bodie, loudly offering her opinion of the restaurant's menu, décor and facilities, and remarking on how 'dear George' always took her to a different restaurant each Christmas when she travelled down for her annual visit. It was while she was talking that her false teeth became loose. Abandoning his own dessert, Bodie found himself watching the teeth, transfixed, as they dropped away from her gums - and fell into her plate with an enormous splash, splattering the contents all across the table cloth. Frozen to the spot in appalled fascination, Bodie could feel every eye in the restaurant fix itself on their table yet again and sunk down lower in his chair, while to the side of him Doyle vanished beneath the table with a snort, muttering about a shoelace. _  
_  
"Oh dear," mumbled Aunt Agatha, mildly, seeming quite unconcerned about all the attention. Fishing the teeth out of her plate, she produced a handkerchief from her purse and calmly wiped the worst of the food off before popping them back into her mouth and carrying on eating.  
  
As Doyle emerged from beneath the table looking suspiciously pink in the face, Bodie became aware that he was still staring, open-mouthed. Deciding that if Aunt Agatha wasn't embarrassed then he shouldn't be either, and reflecting on Cowley's chances of ever being allowed through the door again, he continued eating. But as he polished off the last mouthful of his dessert, with no sign of their boss returning any time soon, an awful thought gradually dawned on him. Catching his partner's eyes, he discreetly mouthed the fateful word, "Bill."  
  
With equal dismay, but rather less tact, Doyle groaned out loud. "Oh, my god."   
  
Aunt Agatha turned on him a horrified glare which should have drilled a hole right through him, and delivered a stinging admonishment worthy of Cowley at his best, drawing a penitent apology from Doyle for swearing, while Bodie bit at his lip in an attempt not to laugh out loud, eyes fixed to the table.   
  
Coffee came and went, and still Mr Cowley showed no sign of returning. With mounting panic, the partners watched a waiter approach their table bearing the bill, and then studied it with sinking hearts.   
  
"Bloody hell," Doyle murmured, softly so that Aunt Agatha wouldn't hear him and complain about his language again.  
  
Across the table, Aunt Agatha popped a mint chocolate into her mouth with total unconcern.   
  
Painfully aware of the waiter hovering close to their table, no doubt anxious to see the backs of them, Bodie and Doyle hauled their wallets out and compared the contents to the total on the bill. They eventually had to resort to credit cards, splitting the bill between them as neither had enough credit remaining to cover the amount alone, which further appalled the waiter. They then had to haul their wallets out again, realising that in spite of everything they were going to have to leave a tip or risk facing the wrath of their boss if they made things any worse than they already were.   
  
Bodie was helping Aunt Agatha put her coat on, preparing to escort her back to her hotel, when Mr Cowley appeared at last, beaming from ear to ear. "Well, now. I'm dreadfully sorry that took so long. It's all been sorted out now. Did you enjoy your meal, Aunt Agatha? I'm so sorry I wasn't able to get back to you before you finished. I do hope these two have been taking good care of you."  
  
He ushered Aunt Agatha out to his car, chattering on about how chilly it had become and how he must get her back to the hotel, while Bodie and Doyle trailed open-mouthed and silently fuming in his wake. Then, with Aunt Agatha safely installed in his Granada, Cowley turned back to them for a final riposte. "Well, if you're finished here, lads, there are just a few details from the Jeffreys case that need finalising. I'll see you in the morning, my office prompt at 8 o'clock. Good night."  
  
Wide eyed with disbelief, the partners stood beside Doyle's car and watched their boss drive off, both speechless. Once the Granada was out of sight, Bodie turned to his partner with a grim expression. "Can you believe that?"  
  
"At least you got a good feed," Doyle pointed out. "Be _next_ Christmas before we get those expenses back."  
  
Bodie wasn't to be distracted. "He did that on purpose, didn't he?"  
  
"Did what on purpose?" Doyle grumbled. "Come on, Bodie, lets get out of here, I'm starving."  
  
Bodie shook his head, scowling. "It never would have taken him that long. Leaving us to cope with the old bird and her teeth while he was off having drinks with the Minister in peace and goodwill … Raymond, my son, we've been had."  
  


 

~end~

  
  
written December 2002


End file.
